


You Give Me That Jump Serve Heartbeat

by misssnowfox



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Kageyama Tobio is Bad at Feelings, Light Angst, M/M, Oblivious Kageyama Tobio, POV Kageyama Tobio, Pining, Pining Kageyama Tobio, the one where kageyama pines angrily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 14:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22712452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misssnowfox/pseuds/misssnowfox
Summary: Crushing a mediocre middle school team should make Kageyama feel on top of the world, but pining and crushing on your rival is hard, especially when you have no idea what a crush is supposed to feel like.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 15
Kudos: 129





	You Give Me That Jump Serve Heartbeat

_I swear I had my eye on him!_

If Tobio Kageyama had to choose his least favourite thing about volleyball, it would, without a doubt, be his teammates. Since the day he’d touched a volleyball and felt its dusty residue on his fingers, his every instinct had screamed at him to perfect and hone the game with the precision of a surgeon. 

Towards the end of his time at middle school, the game that he’d played and worshipped for years had become frustratingly inaccessible to him, largely due to his lacklustre teammates who either weren’t able to keep to his pace or just didn’t want to. They were still winning, but it always felt like hard work. 

After all this time, Kindaichi still couldn’t hit his quickest sets, Kunimi crawled to every ball as though he’d rather be anywhere else. It made a marvel of Kageyama’s nerves and temper. They barely had conversations outside of practice these days that weren’t laced with tension and mutual frustration. Even on the court, it was nothing short of a miracle whenever a practice game didn’t end up in a full-blown argument. He’d played against enough schools in his life now and seen their smiling faces, the mutual pats and hugs between each point won, the words of encouragement with each point lost, to realise that it shouldn’t feel this hard.

Perhaps that was why, in a fleeting moment of giving in to his rising irritation, Kageyama forgot himself saw the flash of green and orange pass right before his eyes before he had a chance to register it - like he wasn’t even there. He was just milliseconds behind him, but it was more than enough for the shorty to completely avoid his attempt at blocking.

Kageyama can’t recall the last time someone had outrun him. That feeling of panic as he runs for the ball, the strain in his arm as he reaches to block its path. As the ball flies past him, he realises that he’s been outrun by a kid who probably only just recently met the height requirements for most theme park rides. Whose tiny frame had been doubled over not half an hour prior with stomach cramps? Who he could probably pick up by the scruff of his neck if he felt like it. _He_ had tricked him.

The game lasts an embarrassingly short amount of time and they take both sets. But not even the dizzying rush of victory untwists the knot that has settled in his stomach as they gather their things and make their way out of the gymnasium. Once again, the game had been tense and none of the other guys attempt conversation with him as they left the building. Instead of filling the usual silence with thoughts on strategy and a list of improvements they can start making as soon as they get back to practice, all Kageyama can think of is a bright tuft of orange hair; hair that had been noticeably more dishevelled towards the end of the game than anyone else on his team. 

When Kageyama had demanded what the hell he’d been doing for the past three years to warrant that subpar level of skill, he’d been close enough to notice the smaller strands of hair around his tiny ears and the back of his neck curling slightly from the moisture, his cheeks pink, breaths coming fast from the jump he’d just done. The shorty wasn’t just hungry - he was starving. 

Kageyama had felt lightheaded in that moment, clutching the net for purchase as he visualised one of his own sets being spiked with that level of determination. Imagine what he could accomplish if just one person on his team looked at the ball with the eyes of a lioness. 

The usual fatigue that set in following a tournament evades him once he gets home and he suspects it had little to do with their final match lasting a mere half an hour and more to do with the way Shorty had challenged him as he’d left the gym. Kageyama lays on his bed, gently volleying the ball into the air above his face in an attempt to relax and encourage sleep to come. 

_Set_

The way Shorty had scrunched his nose while sobbing at him.

_Set_

The vice grip he’d had on his own t-shirt in an attempt to control his emotions.

_Set_

The pitch of his voice as he’d made promises and threats of beating Kageyama that he had no right to. 

The kid was an ocean of potential, but if he wasn’t able to harness that, then all he’d ever be was big, yearning eyes and a wicked high jump. 

Kageyama doesn’t know what makes him angrier; the thought of that potential going to waste or the thought that he might actually be able to beat Kageyama with it one day. He was so distractingly _small_ , it makes Kageyama’s heart stutter with animosity at the thought of ever being outrun by him again.

The fourth time he sets the ball to himself, Kageyama sees it with perfect clarity. Himself in a crowded gymnasium, his purple and white uniform reflecting off of the bright lights, the crowds cheering them on. He’s in the back row, panting like a madman and watching Shorty on the other side of the net in midair as though in flight. A faceless setter puts the ball directly into Shorty’s hand and a second before his hand makes contact with the ball, his eyes purposefully make contact with Kageyama’s without even having to look for him.

Not a single word passes between them but Kageyama hears it like a scream. 

_This is what I’ve been doing for the past year. How do you like me now? I’m going to stay on the court longer than you._

Kageyama clutches the ball in his hands, sits up, and in an executive decision to forego sleep, he goes for a run. 

* * *

The next time they practice, Kageyama manages to go precisely 1 hour without his thoughts betraying him. 

Drills had been going just fine, but the moment they get into a 6x6 and Kindaichi gets assigned to his side of the court, he already feels the tension. They’ve barely spoken to each other in the days following the tournament and Kageyama had felt too uncomfortable approaching him after he’d overheard Kindaichi complaining about him to Kunimi while changing earlier that morning. 

Remembering his coach’s words from their previous tournament, he purposely tries to keep his sets as manageable as possible, but he soon recognises the tell-tale signs of his pulse racing in his throat, his heartbeat in the souls of his feet, his muscle memory reminding him how _good_ it feels to pick up the pace, and before he has a chance to stop them, his hands raise up into position, the ball rebounding off them before there is even a spiker at the net. 

But there _is_ a spiker at the net. Kageyama’s back arches into a beautiful curve as he sets the ball backwards towards the right side of the net. But it’s not Kindaichi there to slam the ball down with perfect accuracy. At his fullest extension, Kageyama catches a glimpse of the net for precisely 2 seconds, but it’s as though they play out in front of his eyes in slow motion for hours.

Shorty, no longer on the opposite side of the court, but right there and dressed in a matching uniform to Kageyama, is already at the net’s height by the time the ball reaches it. His hand in position to hit the ball, his form floating in midair, his face a picture of peace without a single doubt that he’ll succeed. Kageyama feels his cheeks warm with adrenaline at the sight. It’s a provoking, maddening sight. 

The ball makes contact with his hand as though it was made to be there. The accuracy even scares Kageyama. He knew he was good, but he didn’t know he could set a ball that accurately with that kind of speed. Didn’t know there was a player that existed that could match the pace without struggle. There was none of that on Shorty’s face. Not an ounce of strain to hit his set. 

The ball drops straight onto the floor by Kindaichi’s feet before he has a chance to even jump - a dead weight that leaves a thump on the gymnasium floor.

Kageyama just blinks like a deer in the headlights, the neurons in his brain desperately helping him make the connection that Shorty isn’t there. Was never there in the first place. That Kindaichi is yelling at him for doing his King’s Toss again and derailing a perfectly good practice game for the sake of his own ego. 

Kageyama hears none of it.

He looks down at the palms of his hands and back to the spot where he’d imagined Shorty’s quick attack. His muscles feel completely at ease. He consciously tries to relax the crease on his forehead that he knows is there following each set, only to find that he hadn’t been frowning in the first place. He feels as at peace as Shorty had looked, ready for a set that he knew would come to him. 

He can’t remember the last time a set had felt like _that_. The last time the ball had travelled between his hand’s and the spiker’s as easily as between two magnetic poles. The last time a teammate had trusted him enough to set for them like that. The last time he’d trusted that they’d be there when he turned around. His hands shake with how light-headed he feels. He could go mad from this sensation if he let himself. He feels useful. He feels powerful.

… He’d just imagined setting a ball to a rival player in the middle of a practice game.

He finally looks back to Kindaichi, who has now ceased his stream of abusive comments and at least has the decency to look mildly concerned at Kageyama’s uncharacteristic silence.

The furrow in his brow returns to its rightful place as his hands make fists by his side and he storms out of the gym. 

* * *

For the first time in his school volleyball career, Kageyama gets benched. 

He’s so angry and so embarrassed that he wants to vomit or cry, or a depressing combination of both until he stops feeling like he wants the world to swallow him whole. Until he stops feeling this blinding rage. Towards his teammates, towards himself, towards every bad decision he’d made as a captain that led him to this moment. 

He’s seen players get benched for all kinds of reasons over the years, from serious injuries to bad attitude. Even players that get benched for losing their temper carry on after the game as though nothing happened. But he knows deep down that this isn’t something that will blow over once the final whistle blows. The thought of having to look Kindaichi in the eye later makes him want to put his head under a cold tap until the temperature of the water numbs his thoughts to nothing.

His team scores another point and instead of looking at them, he casts a glance over at the opposition. They gather around for a brief huddle, some encouraging words and plenty of smiles. He remembers a time when that sort of wide-eyed optimism had confused and irritated him. _Coddling your team doesn’t help them score points_. Now, feeling the cold of the bench through his shorts as his body and muscles begin to cool down, he’d do anything for just a pat on the back. 

He closes his eyes and rests his head against clenched fists, tapping his foot in time with the sound of the ball’s impact to try and ground himself. As though on cue, he remembers the effortless way that Shorty had motivated his team that he’d handpicked from God knows where. 

He was nothing but messy ginger hair and invigorating idealism. So much personality that it was almost easy to forget how short he really was. _Almost_ . But when someone’s head barely clears the _bottom_ of the net, no amount of charisma can add to their height for very long. Kageyama blames his exhaustion and anger addled brain for the momentary flare of protectiveness at the thought of someone so little receiving a serve from a monster like Oikawa. Somehow, he imagines that even if he took a ball to the face, Shorty would still find it in him to smile after. 

Since that first mid-game daydream, Kageyama has imagined several times now what sharing a court with a tiny bundle of energy like that must be like. More specifically, _that_ tiny bundle of energy. Currently, he wonders how Shorty would have reacted to his aggressiveness on the court just now. How would he have spoken to Kageyama if it had been Shorty constantly messing up their combos and missing sets. For all the bizarre and crazy sets he’d subconsciously dreamt up for the two of them, he’s never been able to visualise Shorty ever missing. 

Instead, he sees the ball meant for Kindaichi dropping to the floor and before he can make the mistake of making his last spiteful comment that will finally cause a permanent rift in their team, he hears Shorty’s voice from the left side of the court calling for the ball. 

“Kageyama, don’t worry about it, I’ll get the next one! Send it to me next time!” 

He gets to play another set and Shorty spikes it perfectly. He gets to play another and then another until finally, they win the game. Kageyama sees his teammates hugging and patting each other on the back, but no one comes to shake his hand or celebrate with him. As he’s about to subtly slink off to line up, he sees the determination in Shorty’s eyes from across the court. They’re focused and calm in a way he’s never pictured them in his imagination before, but remembers seeing during the one game they played together on opposite sides of the court. _Hungry_. 

Shorty starts to stride across the court in Kageyama’s direction, before being tackled by their libero into a joyous heap on the floor. 

“Kageyama?” He hears Shorty’s voice, both breathy and slightly nasally at the same time, as though he’s sitting right next to him on the bench. God, this is the last place he would ever want this kid to see him. Hadn’t he been worthy enough to be deemed a rival just mere weeks ago? Someone that Shorty could surpass one day? It wouldn’t be difficult for even someone of his skill level to surpass the King of the Bench if this was to be his fate.

“You’ll get the next one,” Shorty tells him “Just try not to get so mad next time, you’ll get wrinkles.”

Under normal circumstances, Kageyama would have felt the urge to reach over and yank Shorty’s hair out from atop his head, but he’s tired and he’s humiliated and Shorty is just a figment of his imagination anyway, so he just exhales. He curses himself for remembering his voice with perfect clarity just from the couple of short conversations they’d had. He’d always had a knack for memorisation, but now it just feels like he’s being laughed at by his own mind. No one on his team had ever tried to cheer him up before. He’d probably kill them for trying.

He knows without a doubt what the expression on Shorty’s face would be if he were really sitting beside him comforting him right now. Reassuring but utterly unforgiving in his silent demand, not request, that Kageyama snap out of it. 

If he concentrates hard enough, he can almost feel the comforting warmth of body heat next to him as though Shorty was actually next to him; a real and solid and soothing presence. In this position, he imagines Shorty would just about come up to his shoulders, his stature skinny and compact; a decidedly and noticeably smaller person than Kageyama and it makes him marvel at how strong he appears in Kageyama’s head when he imagines him spiking. At how someone can be so very decidedly and deceptively two things at once. 

Sitting next to Kageyama, not as a spiker, not as a teammate, not as a target to aim the ball at, but as something frightfully distinct and intimate, Kageyama pictures him for the first time in his most casual and approachable state. Perhaps not even in uniform. Perhaps in a hoodie that’s too big. Perhaps with his hair in total disarray after having removed his hat, cheeks pink from having walked into the cold gym. The picture he’s painted can only be described as painfully, honestly and frustratingly adorable. 

It makes Kageyama want to put his fist through a wall. 

* * *

In the days that follow, Kageyama sleeps very little, practices by himself until he’s blue in the face and red in the hands and most importantly, gives himself self imposed penalties every time he thinks of Shorty. He’s avoided practice for the first time in his life, fuelled by the fear that he won’t have just been benched as the setter for this one game, but for the precious little time he has left at Kitagawa First. 

Instead, he thinks to high school, to a fresh start, to the players at Shiratorizawa that will be able to match his skill level. He does everything he can do _not_ think about the fact that Shorty will most certainly not be among them.

As he bumps and spikes his volleyball against the wall of the gym, he’s borderline furious at himself for wasting so much time conjuring up impossible combo attacks with someone he’s spoken to just twice. For compromising his team by imagining himself setting for his rival. His _rival,_ not his _teammate_. 

Kageyama has no idea what Shorty’s skill level will be like once they get to high school. He’s already felt and seen his own improvement since they played each other and he’s willing to bet Shorty will find some way to climb to his level for when they next meet on the court. _Hungry_. Unlike his teammates, Kageyama refuses to underestimate anyone, especially those that have something to prove. He needs a sure-fire way to beat him. He needs something that can’t be taken away from him. He needs something that he can rely on even when his team abandons him, even when there’s no one behind him to hit his sets. He needs …

He drops his ball, takes out his phone and does something that will no doubt wash away whatever self-respect he ever had for himself as a human being. 

**From: Tobio Kageyama**  
**To: Toru Oikawa**  
_**Message:** I need you to teach me how to jump serve. Can you do that? _

The reply takes a whole five minutes to come through and Kageyama knows from experience it’s not because Oikawa hasn’t seen the message. He’s as glued to his phone as he is to his volleyball. The stuck-up bastard has probably printed himself a poster of the email already and pinned it to his wall.

**From: Toru Oikawa**  
_**To: Tobio Kageyama** _  
_**Message:** Just one second, I need to screenshot this for posterity. Okay, now what were you saying? _

Kageyama has no idea what the word “posterity” means but it makes him grind his teeth so hard he nearly cracks them and imagines it’s Oikawa’s smug face he’s holding between them. 

* * *

His first jump serve in high school. He may be alone, and it may only be for practice, but this would be the fresh start he needed. New team, new uniform, no baggage to follow him here.

He feels calm and collected as he throws the ball into the air, prepares himself for the sting that the force of it will leave in his palm, for the rush of achievement he’ll feel after. He craves those endorphins like a lung. He’s _missed_ this.

“YOU’RE HERE TOO?”

Kageyama knows it’s physically impossible for time to stop, but at that moment he might have been convinced of the possibility. 

He curses his imagination for ruining what he hoped would be the best years of his volleyball career to date. It had been a long time since his mind had wandered to him and yet Shorty’s voice had followed him even here. He couldn't afford any more mistakes or mishaps because of an unexplainable fixation on a short, mediocre wing spiker. 

But as he turns to face the source of the noise, he realises that Shorty’s face isn’t smiling, optimistic, happy, reassuring or any of the many different ways he’s pictured him looking at Kageyama in the last few months. It’s up, viscously twisted and contorted in a way that Kageyama has never pictured and couldn’t even _imagine_ picturing. Every interaction he’s ever conjured up between them in his mind has been taken from what he already knows, the precious few faces he’s already seen Shorty make the one time they crossed paths. 

Kageyama had never been known much for using his brain (off the court) and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to connect the dots that his imagination was in no way shape or form good enough to create that hideous expression, which could only mean...

Oh … this is real.

Kageyama spends all of two seconds letting relief flood him from the bottom of his feet to the top of his heart; an emotion quite foreign to him. 

He holds his breath, a vice grip around his throat, to prevent himself from making a noise that would absolutely give away just how badly he’s wanted precisely this. How well he’s managed to lie to himself that _this_ wasn’t exactly what he needed to make all the bad feeling inside him disappear. How even now, when the literal figment of his imagination is standing in front of him, ginger and tiny and _real_ , his traitorous self was already making a list of ways in which he could mess this up. How very much he feared that there would even _be_ something for him to mess up. If he dared consider … If he was lucky ...

Which is precisely the moment at which the ball he had thrown into the air in preparation for his serve lands with painful accuracy right on top of his head.

“Ow,” he voices out loud. But as he looks to his left again to make absolutely sure this was really happening, his heart thuds like jump serve after jump serve. 

It would take him another year to recognise those thuds that he’d once mistaken as anger and frustration and hatred for what they _really_ were. But for now, the only thought coherent enough to fill his mind is a simple _Oh_ ...

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> This is not only my first fic in the Hikayuu fandom, but also the first fic I've written in close to 7 or 8 years. Patience and kindness would be appreciated, but that being said, feel free to drag me for any mistakes or if you have any feedback! I had an absolute blast writing this and I can't wait to contribute more to this fandom. 
> 
> This was written for The Kagehina "Freak Duo" Discord server's 'Volleytines Event' for the prompt of "Pining/Crushes". And because I can't imagine Tobio crushing in any way that isn't angsty and moody, I apologise for the angst I added to this prompt.
> 
> ___
> 
> UPDATED A/N
> 
> I can't thank you enough for all the lovely words you've had to say about my fic, but I've decided, at least for the time being, to disable comments on all my fics up to this point. New fics will have comments enabled, but email notifications turned off. This has nothing to do with any negative experiences with anyone commenting (as you can see if you read, it's all very very kind), but I've just found the experience a little too overwhelming for me personally in terms of responding and no matter how many people tell me not to worry, it's not going away, and I know the more I write the more it'll frustrate me. I didn't want to let new people comment on the story and feel ignored or left out because they thought I refused to reply to them. So the best way for me to do that is just to disable all fics where there are already existing comments. I know this can be horribly frustrating for some folks, so if you really would like to get in touch with me, I LOVE talking to new people and you an reach me via my twitter (linked in the A/N) or through my discord handle which is Roxanne#6113
> 
> I love you all and if you happen to find this fic after this A/N was written I hope you enjoy it and I love you all!
> 
> * 
> 
> Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/misssnowfoxx), to spam me about kagehina <3


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